The Aftermath
by tmtcltb
Summary: A series of one-shots reflecting what might have happened once the missions are over and the team comes home. Told from the perspective of different characters and not in order. I will add new chapters as inspiration strikes. *Spoilers through Episode 1.13* Rated T for language.
1. Clay - Episode 110

Clay lay on top of the unfamiliar navy blue comforter, one that Stella must have bought while he was gone, still in his BDUs and boots. He was exhausted, too exhausted to do anything more than drop his bag by the door and stumble down the hall to his bed. But despite his fatigue, his eyes wouldn't close. And when they did close, the same sight awaited him.

 _Fifteen._

By all measurable standards, the mission was a success. The intel was good. The team not only located the phone, but also identified the owner and her handler. The brass was practically shitting themselves at the triple score. Best of all, the team didn't suffer a single injury, in and out before anyone else figured out what was happening. But despite the official summary, the trip home was quiet. No toasts. No jokes about how many cases of beer Clay now owed (twelve). Hell, for the first time nobody even tried to tip him out of his hammock or slip something slimy into his bag.

 _Fifteen._

The shooting was clean. Even before Jason corned Clay for a pep talk - which Jason did not once but twice, first at the house and then again after the debriefing - he knew. Entering the house of a known enemy combatant, faced with a man holding an AK-47, the situation was textbook. But still...

 _Fifteen._

Despite a few tense moments during the chopper ride back, the girl pulled through. The brass was much more willing to expend resources - blood, plasma, a real doctor - upon discovering that she might know something. And boy did she - know things that was. Once that girl got talking, she didn't stop. And mixed in with the usual propaganda and vitriol over American atrocities, there was intel about a recruitment operation that they previously knew jack shit about.

 _Fifteen._

Angry over the loss of a friend, drawn in by a charismatic boy, Aisha Bashar was no different than millions of other angst-ridden teenage girls. Still, this was no child caught up in something she didn't understand. Unlike the majority of the teenage combatants Clay encountered in Afghanistan, who were brainwashed from birth to believe that they would earn eternal salvation by blowing themselves up, Aisha had been raised by parents who rejected the jihadist path, who sheltered their children as much as possible from the surrounding violence. She was educated, her future prospects bright. She hadn't even lost a parent or a sibling or a limb. Just a friend. She threw away her future and tore her family apart over a friend.

 _Fifteen._

Clay should feel better about the shooting, knowing who and what she was. Knowing that the raid, her capture, could save innumerable American lives. But he didn't. Because she was still a kid. An unarmed kid. A kid who was sitting in a room studying for a biology test one minute, and bleeding out the next. _And it was wrong._ All of it was wrong. Aisha should be home with her family right now, studying or talking to her mother, maybe making plans to meet up with friends. Definitely not in Turkey being interrogated, leaving her devastated family to pick up the pieces, unlikely to ever see her again.

 _Bullet or no bullet, fifteen years old and Aisha's life was over._

The click of the key turning in the lock startled Clay, and he noticed the shadows playing across the bedroom ceiling for the first time, realizing how long he had been laying here. There was a jingle as Stella dropped her keys to the small ceramic dish she placed by the door for that express purpose after the fourth or fifth time he misplaced his set. The swish of her jacket as she hung it in the closet was followed by the click of her heels walking down the hall.

Stella leaned against the frame of the door, arms folded across her chest, a smile playing on her lips. "Hey, handsome, didn't know you were home."

Clay forced himself to sit up, noticing the crust of sand now decorating the duvet cover. _Shit_. "I'll clean that up after I shower."

Before he could bring himself to stand, though, Stella was moving forward, only the slightest slip in her smile betraying her concern, her recognition that something was wrong. Sitting down next to him on the bed, she wrapped an arm around his back, head moving to his shoulder. "Sand. So I guess that rules out South America."

Clay smiled. "Actually Argentina has some nice beaches."

She hesitated. "Everyone okay?"

 _Brian._ She was thinking about Brian. "The guys are fine."

An answer that was - and wasn't - an answer. Ignoring the sand, Clay shifted so they were sitting against the headboard, pushing a small pillow decorated with some sort of flower crap onto the floor in the process. Stella's hand traced a pattern on his stomach. "You want to talk about it?"

Clay consider the question, the silence stretching, before twisting his neck to press a kiss on her forehead. "Some days just suck."

x

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 _A/N - this_ _popped into mind after Episode 10 so I decided to throw it up and see if there was any interest. Always love to hear what people think! Until next time... - tmtcltb_


	2. Sonny Quinn - Episode 111

_Ch. 2 - Sonny - spoilers through Episode 1.11 "Containment"_

 _x_

Over the course of ninety minutes, two whiskeys, and three pitchers of beer, Sonny Quinn, Danny Cooper, and Lisa Davis covered every topic imaginable - significant others (none), politics (all desk pushers blow), and travel (Danny stayed at better hotels) - except the one that drove Sonny to call Danny in the first place.

 _Lucas Garner._

Davis had just excused herself to use the restroom when Danny cut to the chase. "I figure you didn't call me out the blue just to shoot the shit. You want to tell me what this is about?"

Sonny took a long pull on his beer. "You hear about Garner?"

"Yeah I heard. Prisoner exchange. A three for one deal." Danny shrugged. "Saw a picture of the guy on the news. Looked about the way I would expect after four years as a guest in a Taliban hotel."

"That's a fact," Sonny confirmed before adding grimly, "He looked better before they pulled the black bag off his head."

Danny tipped his glass towards Sonny, his eyes on the golden liquid. "You part of that?"

"Yeah." The silence stretched long enough that Sonny felt the need to fill it. He rolled his glass between his hands, eyes on the table. "I suggested taking the bastard's head off and blaming it on the cross fire, but Ray pointed out that shooting an unarmed American prisoner was a pretty bad plan unless a federal prison was my idea of a vacation."

Danny laughed. "Ray is a smart man."

Sonny waited another few seconds before looking up, meeting Danny's eyes straight-on. "Have to say. You seem pretty calm about the whole thing. If I were you, I'd have turned his face into a dartboard."

"And you wonder why nobody ever goes along with your plans," Danny retorted with a roll of his eyes, drawing a snort of agreement from Sonny. Strategy was definitely not his department.

"But seriously. Why would I be pissed? Garner was what? Nineteen? We've all seen those kids. Get sucked in by those rah-rah dickheads talking about all the training the army gives and the job opportunities that magically appear if you have the word veteran on your resume and the second the ink is dry on the recruitment forms you're thrown into a friggin' war zone. It's sink or swim out there and Garner sunk." Danny shook his head before raising his glass to his lips. "Whatever Garner went through the last four years, he's been punished enough."

Sonny stared blankly at the man who was his partner for three years, closer than a brother. Danny had always been the smart one, brains to Sonny's brawn. But this? This didn't compute. Garner destroyed Danny's life. Put him in the hospital for six months. Took him out of running for SEAL training. Got him kicked out of the service with almost ten years in.

Danny smiled, reading Sony's mind as easily as he ever did. "What do I have to complain about, man? I've got a good job. I'm making more now in one year than you do in five. And I like the lifestyle. Lots of travel, regular hours, and as for the rest? Well, let's just say that the ladies don't seem to mind the scars when they're eating at five-star restaurants and sleeping in silk sheets."

Sonny wasn't sure how long he would have sat there, mouth hanging open, if Davis hadn't reappeared. "What's got the two of you looking so serious?"

Danny finished the rest of his beer in a single swallow, refilling his glass and topping Davis's beer off before giving her his most charming smile. "Told Sonny here how much I make in private security. Don't worry. I'm sure he'll remember how to talk again soon."


	3. Ray Perry - Episode 113

_A/N - spoilers through Episode 13. I had this scene half written and then watched Episode 13 and the show went in a slightly different direction than what I was expecting. I debated about posting this but decided that I might as well. Language in italics is from the episode. Also, I couldn't find a name for Ray and Naima's son, so I picked one that I liked. Let me know what you think. Hope you all enjoy!_

 _x_

Ray pulled into the parking lot, quickly locating a spot and jogging over to the picnic area where Naima said to meet her, no idea what to expect after their last conversation.

 _"Hey, I'm going to be fine. Believe me. But I got to take care of this stuff. Those men- they were my brothers."_

 _Naima looked up, her eyes shinning with tears. "Just promise me if your shoulder acts up you'll take yourself out."_

 _"I told you, honey, I will get it checked..."_

 _But Naima was having none of it, her voice cracking. "No, Ray, you'll take yourself out. These kids, they don't have a father anymore. Do you understand? Cindy doesn't have a husband. Promise me."_

 _The pain in her eyes was like a knife to the chest, and he would have said anything to make it go away. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. "Okay. I promise. I promise."_

 _Naima's hands rose to his waist, her face buried in his shirt. "Liar."_

After Jameelah was born, Naima's mood had been unpredictable, his previously unflappable wife dissolving into tears at the drop of a hat, her anxiety through the roof. Worried about Jammie. Worried about him. Worried about the damn neighbor's dog. Over a year passed before Ray began to see the woman he married again and, although they both knew that they wanted more children, it took another three years before they were willing to go through that again. But this time Naima hadn't seemed to be as emotional, despite the additional strain of recovering from an emergency c-section. Not as emotional, that was, until their last conversation.

Which is why the sight of his wife calmly spreading a tablecloth over the grass, their son perched in his stroller to one corner of the cloth, threw him completely off his game.

"Hi Daddy!"

Turning, Ray caught sight of Jammie dangling from the monkey bars, her braids swinging in the breeze. He raised a hand but she was already back to whatever game she was playing, her laughter echoing across the space. She, at least, had been spared the knowledge of what happened to Echo Team, spending the morning with a friend while Ray and Naima went to Cindy's house.

Naima nodded towards the small cooler to the left of Micah's stroller. "There's some beer, if you'd like. I know you prefer bottles but no glass at the park."

Ray sat, popping the top of the can. "I thought that you were upset."

Naima nodded, her attention on the food that she was unwrapping, which appeared to be barbecue from his favorite place. She began dishing food onto his plate. Ribs. Potato salad. Ray was practically drooling. "I am."

"You poison the food?" he quipped, setting down his beer to accept the heaping plate and fork.

Naima's eyes narrowed but her tone remained pleasant. "You ship out in three hours, Ray. I said my piece. You know how I feel and I know who I married. We need to enjoy the time we have left together."

 _Just in case_ was left unsaid.

Ray dug in. The potato salad, made with red potatoes and plenty of mayo, was just the way he liked it, the ribs perfectly seasoned. The lump forming in his stomach had nothing to do with the food. Ray took another bite, trying to enjoy the stewed greens that he wouldn't have again for months. "I'm sorry."

"I know." The words were quiet, Naima's hand coming to clasp his, and once again Ray was reminded of just how much strength this woman that he married possessed. Raymond Perry might be a formidable operator, but without Naima, his life would be empty. As quickly as the moment arrived, it passed, Naima turning towards the playground where their daughter's laughter echoed. "Jameelah! Time to eat!"

Chewing on a rib, Ray considered the mountain of food before them. "You may have overbought."

Naima waved a hand towards to pile. "Oh, that's for the team. You know how Sonny is about his barbecue. I told Davis that if she could give me two hours, I'd get enough for everyone."

Ray paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Davis was the one member of the team who was (almost) always reachable, and therefore often had the unenviable task of dealing with pissed-off-wives-looking-for-their-chronically-absent-husbands. Fortunately Davis had enough experience to know when to relay the message and enough discretion to ignore the rather personal nature of some of those calls. "So that's how you find out what we're up to? You bribe Davis with food?"

Naima passed a plate to Jameelah, pushing her daughter's hair out of her face and wiping her hands with one of Micah's wipes, before turning back to Ray with a smile.

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."


	4. Stella - Episode 113

_A/N - spoilers through Episode 13. This was inspired in part by a request from MusketeerAdventure. Just a little bonding of those left behind._

 _x_

"Stella!"

Stella paused, the door of Clay's pickup already open. Why they had taken his truck today escaped her, given that she would be the one driving it back to the apartment. Parking this behemoth was intimidating even when she wasn't crying. Brushing away the tears that covered her cheeks, Stella turned to see Naima waving at her. "Yes?"

"I need to get your cell number," Naima explained, phone in hand, apparently getting ready to input the information. "We meet up every Sunday night when the guys are deployed. We rotate houses but don't worry, we won't ask you to host. I don't imagine that you and Clay have child-proofed your apartment yet."

The words caught Stella off-guard. Naima was referring to the apartment as though it belonged to both her and Clay. But did it really? Stella hadn't given up her own place, after all, despite having spent every night at the apartment. She had a key but...the name on the lease was his. The electric bill, the cable bill, the water and sewer, all of it was in his name. Panic bloomed as Stella realized that she didn't know how Clay paid his bills while deployed. Was she supposed to be handling that? There hadn't been time to talk about any of it. Accessing his checking account or contacting him in emergencies or ...

"Stella?" Naima prompted.

Stella wondered how long she been staring at Naima, mouth gaping like a fish. She paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself, trying to think of the words to politely decline the invitation, but she couldn't seem to form a coherent sentence. _Was it only days ago that Clay asked her to marry him?_ Maybe if she hadn't been so confused, terrified that he was only asking because he was dying, worried that he hadn't meant what he said, scared of admitting - even to herself - what she really wanted, maybe then he wouldn't have felt the need to take the question back. What was it that he said? Oh, yeah, - _they weren't ready for that_. And she wasn't.

 _Was she?_

Maybe if she had listened to her heart rather than her head she wouldn't feel like such an impostor right now. Maybe she wouldn't be standing here staring at Naima like a lunatic.

"Stella?" Naima asked for the third time, her voice gentle.

Stella forced a smile, hating the tear that she felt rolling down her cheek. "It's kind of you to include me. But Clay and I aren't, well, we aren't family and..."

"Please." Naima didn't bother to hide her eye roll. "I've seen enough frog hogs to recognize one when I see her. You're family in every way that counts."

 _Frog hog?_ If anything, Naima's pep talk way making Stella feel worse. She didn't even understand the lingo half the time. Stella rolled the ring she wore around her middle finger. "We're still at the getting to know each other stage. That's what Clay said." Realizing that she was revealing far too much about her state of mind to a near stranger, Stella rushed to add. "And he's right. We barely know each other."

"Uh huh." Naima cocked her head to the side, looking Stella up and down, before reaching out to pluck Stella's cell phone from her hand. She began typing. "The first time is the hardest. You have no idea what you're supposed to do. And the guys are no help. They don't know what it's like to be left behind. But we do."

Naima gestured towards the group of women standing across the parking lot. Alanna stood talking with Trent's wife Katie, rolling Micah's stroller back and forth with a practiced hand. To the side Emma appeared to be braiding Jameelah's hair while Michael played with some sort of handheld video-game console.

Stella swallowed. "I thought I had weeks to prepare and figure things out. It's all so sudden."

"I know." Naima reached out a hand to return Stella's phone. "I've where you are. We all have. And we're here to help. All you have to do is ask."


End file.
